


A Wrestling Tarot

by dracofire87



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 22:32:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15277590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracofire87/pseuds/dracofire87
Summary: Twenty-three cards, twenty-three archetypes, and the men and women who embody them.





	A Wrestling Tarot

**Author's Note:**

> For Teakwood, who inspired this, and who puts up with most of my wrestling-inspired philosophical ramblings.
> 
> The Tarot arcana used below diverges to some degree from the traditional Rider-Waite deck, because I drew my inspiration from a beautiful deck called "The Numinous Tarot" designed by Noel Arthur Heimpel. By design, the deck eschews gendered archetypes in favor of a more inclusive outlook--I highly recommend checking it out!

The deck spreads before you, wild and shifting. What they were before, they are not now, and will not be in the future. But they stand nonetheless, a glimpse into a liminal world, a snapshot of an endlessly cycling past, present, and future.

 

~*~

 

**0: The Fool**

_A man in a red and black mask throws himself backwards off a cliff, arms spread, cape trailing behind him. Where he will land is unclear._

He is everything and nothing at the same time; generic and faceless, universal and omnipresent. The stories flow from him like water, pouring out around him and leaving nothing in his hands. But as he leaps, he laughs, and singing follows him down like a waterfall.

“ _¡Olé, olé, olé, olé! ¡Olé~, olé!_ ”

 

~*~

 

**I: The Magician**

_A dark-skinned man with a shaved head wearing a black coat trimmed in silver lifts up his hands, which are limned in fire, towards the sky._

Power, controlled; speed, coiled. When he enters the ring, he carries magic with him--the idea that a man might really be faster and stronger, able to fight and fly like a whirlwind of grace. But along with power, purpose. His eyes are locked on a golden prize, and he will bend the laws of gravity themselves to obtain it.

King at last.

 

~*~

 

**II: The Diviner**

_A long-limbed, dark-skinned man floats through a psychedelic field of stars, robed in purple, blindfolded but with a third eye shining open in their forehead._

What good is effort, without desire? Why fight, if you have nothing to fight for?

Once upon a time, he fought like a man, strove like a man, lost like a man. But in that loss, he found a way to make himself something better--to reach out to a glorious vision of the future, where his name was spoken alongside legends, and his mystique reached the very stars themselves. He set aside the man, and became something greater.

Reach out, and become the Dream.

 

~*~

 

**III: The Nurturer**

_A large man in a rumpled grey suit with bleach-blond hair sits in the middle of the ring, hands cupped in his lap. In his hands are small figures of men and women, surrounded by a gentle green glow._

He might not have been the best father to his sons, but it’s hard to be a father when you’re sharing yourself with the world. He’d reached out his hands to the masses, but now his day was done.

But he wasn’t done, not yet. Time to teach, time to sow, time to pass on a lifetime of hard-earned lessons to the ones who came behind him. To the men and women, passionate and eager, who wanted to reach out their hands in turn, and touch the world.

When he was dust, Dusty’s kids would live on.

 

~*~

 

**IV: The Founder**

_A broad-shouldered, square-jawed man in a steel-gray suit sits on a throne in a commanding posture. He stares directly at the viewer, and in his right hand he holds the symbol of his office: a sledgehammer._

It’s all about the game and how you play it. But now he runs a game of his own, with an eye to rule a bigger table when the time comes. His word is law, his queen is by his side, and his made men stand ready to reshape the world in his image. A tyrant, but a benevolent one; a father to his men...and quiet murder to his enemies.

Power...power is just a different kind of hammer.

 

~*~

 

**V: The Visionary**

_A man with a red beard and close-cropped red hair stands, eyes closed and head slightly bowed. One arm hangs against his chest in a black sling. A golden aura surrounds his head, stark and beautiful against the backdrop of a black-and-red mask._

Once he was a fool, but the fool grew, and changed, and became something else. A truth-seeker, a self-made man, a seeker of the narrow path between vainglory and violence. He walks half in light, half in darkness, driven by a higher purpose that will elevate him...or destroy him.

Wounded but not down, pained but not broken, he waits for the moment to step forward again. And while he waits, there are bigger battles to fight, and worse suffering to soothe. He hears the cries of his people, and he will not be silent.

He sees the path. Do you?

 

~*~

 

**VI: The Lovers**

_A light-skinned man with blond hair and an Asian man with dark hair stand facing each other, hands clasped. Above them, a winged heart floats; one wing is black, and the other, white._

They were golden, until everything fell apart. Inseparable, until torn in two. But each carried a part of the other with them, a piece of a heart to light the way through the shadows. Through the long silence, the long dark, through bitterness and selfishness and pain, they found each other again.

They are golden once again, with their found-family around them, reaching towards the stars. Together until the end.

Or _an_ ending, at least.

 

~*~

 

**VII: The Chariot**

_A bearded man in a sleeveless t-shirt stands between two bears, one light, one dark. His hands rest lightly on their backs, and he stares at the viewer defiantly from beneath heavy brows._

He can hardly believe he’s here, some days. How long did he languish in the indies, wrestling in armories for crowds of a couple hundred? How much blood shed, how much time on the road, missing his wife, his son, his daughter?

Now he fights for thousands in the biggest arenas in the world. Now, his children will never have to fear. So long as he never stops fighting. Never stops trying, never stops clawing his way to the top. One step at a time. Even if you have to crawl.

Fight anything. Fight forever.

 

~*~

 

**VIII: Strength**

_A square-jawed man in jean shorts and colorful armbands kneels in the ring, keeping a monster of a man trapped in a powerful submission hold. But his face is peaceful, and his head is ringed with light--it seems to not cost him anything at all._

He’s the champion of children, the hero of archetype. He stands at the pinnacle, with nothing to fear from anyone. He’s won every battle there is to fight, and needs no acclamation from anyone. Why should he? His face represents Goodness to children the world over. What more could you ask, than to be a living Superman?

 

~*~

 

**IX: The Hermit**

_A man with a wild beard stands, staff in one hand, lantern in the other. Matted braids of hair spill out from the drawn-up hood of his robe. Behind him is an endless field of floating lights._

He used to be just a man. But the secrets whispered to him, the things that wait in the dark for someone...with a lantern. Someone to seek them, find them, and devour them whole. He will never be a great champion, but no matter. He has eaten worlds, worn the face of fear, and no matter where he goes, he carries his secrets with him.

Like fireflies in the dark.

 

~*~

 

**X: The Wheel of Fortune**

_This card depicts a great wheel colored red, blue, and yellow in equal thirds. Spotlights in all three colors shine down from above, while a shadowed pit waits below._

Things change fast, in this business. One day you’re a champion, the next you’re just meat. The crowds chant your name, and the next day you’re booed. Or worse...the silence of apathy, of boredom, of distaste.

You work hard, you hustle, and you try to stay on top. Pay your dues. Do as you’re told. Be creative, be unique. Don’t think about the pit that waits below--reach for the stars, and spin the wheel.

 

~*~

 

**XI: Justice**

_A man in a flannel shirt, with long hair and a wild beard looks directly at the viewer, seeming to smile slightly. In his hands is a sword, held point down--and the hilt is also the arms of a scale, perfectly balanced._

This world has rules, and he lives by them. Your actions have consequences. You settle things in the ring. Good triumphs over evil, the scrappy underdog over the bland favorite. And those wronged, by fate, by injury, by evil, will have their glorious return.

He’ll see to it. It’s the least he can do for this world that he loves.

 

~*~

 

**XII: The Hanged One**

_A heavily-tattooed man with long black hair hangs from the branch of a shadowed ash tree by one leg, the his free leg crossed behind the bound one at the knee. His hands are clasped behind his back, and his face--calm and stoic--is lit by candles gathered around the tree’s trunk. A golden belt is fastened around his waist._

In the maelstrom of his world, clarity. A singular purpose, an acceptance of suffering and struggle. He shall be neither good, nor evil; neither aggressive, nor cowardly. And though his position is precarious, in constant need of defending, he shows no fear. He hangs on the cusp of greatness, and all he must do to achieve it...is wait.

In darkness, understanding.

 

~*~

 

**XIII: Death**

_A man with an angular face and short-cropped bleach-blond hair stands, crowned with flowers and thorns, looking out at the viewer. One eye is marred by a vicious-looking bruise._

What would you do, for greatness? What would you sacrifice, to achieve your destiny?

Would you sacrifice safety, and surety? Would you sacrifice the only life you’ve ever known? Travel across the world, leave your coworkers, trust yourself to strangers with only the recommendation of a friend? Would you sacrifice your father’s legacy, and leave behind what he died to build?

He has.

Let the past die, and build in the new a glorious dream.

 

~*~

 

**XIV: Temperance**

_An Asian man with unruly blond-dyed hair and a thin beard rests, his eyes closed, on the mat of the ring. Mirrored above him is a darker-haired, more groomed version of himself. Each is reaching up a hand, their fingertips barely touching._

He rose, shining, and fell just as fast. He reached for the stars, and found them ripped away. Eagerness turned to resentment, passion to apathy. But there in the darkness he found himself again. Found a family, found a home. Inside him, the two still rage--the passionate genius, the apathetic veteran. Together, they may just make a champion.

In all things, _tranquilo._

 

~*~

 

**XV: The Shadow**

_A tanned, brawny man with a wild beard and shaved head stands, grinning viciously at the viewer. Blood-red cords wrap around his legs, stretching up to bind his hands together, then feed up through the gaping hole in his chest to loop, strangling, around his neck._

You’ll never be rid of him now. It was too much to bear, the losing, the fighting, the wondering when you were going to move on, be rid of him, be free. So he ripped you free himself, and bound you with blood, and hate, until you were his, his forever and a day. Two sides of the same coin, scarred and warped and melting.

(He sees her love for you, and it burns, because she can take you away from him. He sees your love for him, and it burns him too. Your love could make him free of this.)

This is his moment. Forever, and ever, and ever.

 

~*~

 

**XVI: The Tower**

_A man in a maroon cape plummets from a ladder set in the middle of the ring, his body limp, with no one to catch him and no hope of softening the fall._

He did _everything_ they asked, and it was never enough. He was their champion, lifted up...only to fall. They sacrificed one of his names. They took a fighter and made him a fool. They made the king of nothing and no one, then asked him to take the fall for a hollow chosen.

In his fury, he sought to change his fate. And now his fate is to fall, frozen, forever. Barred from the ring he called his home, barred from the glory and the crowds, barred from the leap and the beautiful dive down.

If there was a worse Hell for one such as he, he could not name it.

 

~*~

 

**XVII: The Star**

_A red-bearded man wearing black-and-red tights kneels in a ring. In his hands he cradles a golden belt, and his smile is one of pure weary joy. Behind him, a diverse crowd of people sings and dances._

Out of despair, hope. From two seconds of purest darkness, to three seconds of the purest joy. And with him, the world rejoices, flames rekindled, enough to light the world. There may be darkness later, but for the moment, they are one in the light of a star shining bright.

 

~*~

 

**XVIII: The Moon**

_A woman dressed in a riot of colors and prints stands with her arms spread, a brightly colored robe falling down from her arms to spread behind her. She wears a white mask with staring eyes and blood-red lips, which seems to smile slightly._

Sinuous, skilled, joyous, brutal. She entrances the crowd with a look, her enemies quake at her smile. Her true face is never seen, masked with the vicious glee of battle. You may defeat her, but you cannot stop her, and like the Moon...even if you cannot see her, she’s always there.

Waiting.

 

~*~ 

 

**XIX: The Sun**

_A dark-skinned man with long hair tied back in a wild ponytail grins at the viewer. He is flanked on either side by two other dark-skinned men, one slender and dreadlocked, the other huge and square-jawed. They all wear brightly colored, tight-fitting clothing._

It’s a new day, yes it is! The are the joy of this world, the mirth, the ridiculous, illuminating glory. They are music, and dance, and song. When they laugh, you cannot help but laugh with them. Come join them, and let the power of positivity be your guide.

 

~*~

 

**XX: Awakening**

_A broad-shouldered, bearded man in a sleeveless t-shirt stands with his back to the viewer. He is framed in a doorway, and in front of him, beyond the viewer, stretches a cheering crowd in a massive, shining stadium._

One moment. One moment you’ve been waiting for your entire life. Your dream, but _real_ , stretching out in front of you. The moment you never thought you’d reach.

Pause. Take a breath. Drink it in. Let it wash over you. You’ve earned this.

Let’s begin.

 

~*~

 

**XXI: The World**

 

 _An empty ring stands in the middle of an empty space. Spotlights burn down upon it, making it shine. In the shadows, you might or might not be able to make out the suggestion of a crowd._ _  
_

Have a world. Have everything it contains, have multitudes. Have joy, have sorrow. Have victory, have defeat. Rise in glory, fall in shame. Fight. Bleed. Celebrate. Weep. Live. Die.

It’s your world: go make it.

 

~*~

 

**∞: The Numinous**

_Two silhouettes are fighting in a ring. One has launched himself from the turnbuckle, arching in the air. The other braces to catch him, head tilted upwards. They both hang, suspended in that moment, while the lights above seem like the sun and the moon, and the crowd behind suggests the appearance of stars._

It’s not about the ring, or the fighting, or even the characters and the stories they tell. It’s about the moments, of connection, of illumination, of emotion. It’s about the touch of a hand as they pass by, about our exultation in their victory, our empathy with their suffering. The ring becomes a liminal space where their minds and ours connect, to make something greater than than the parts of the whole.

Savor it. Treasure it. Those transcendent moments when together, we make something beautiful, or great, or wise. In the end...those moments might be all we really have.

Together.


End file.
